Minerva, Scourge of the Smokestacks
Within a tall, glass covered office building, a burly man taps out a rushed rhythm while awaiting a report. Frantically flipping through mountainous stacks of paper, an array of subordinates search for something to satisfy their boss’s appetite. All except for one, who gently cleared their throat before reading from the top sheet of his stack.
“Minerva. Age 27, though she doesn't look her age. She was marked early on with above average grades, but ended up dropping out early. Despite that and her often immature and childish nature, she has recently become a fixture within the community of the industrial quarter. Several incident reports do list her for vandalism and other small offenses, but nothing major. What else, let's see… it says here that she is big into the local music scene and she prefers oversized clothing to that of fitted clothing because-”
The boss man at the head of the table slammed his fist down, silencing the subordinate.
“Enough,” he shouted. “I don't care what her favorite color is… Cut the drivel! What about her is of actual meaningful value? Does she have some unique genetic gift, is she prime for enhancements, y’know the sort of thing we are looking for?”
Beads of sweat reached a peak accumulation atop the collective foreheads surrounding the small man who had offered up this report for review.
“She has none, sir. Presently, by all accounts she is unexceptional, but-”
The boss slammed his desk once again. “Then, why the hell are you wasting my time with this useless nobody? Do you not value this company and what it has done for you and your family?”
Movement with the office ceased completely. But, the subordinate kept his composure in the face of an impending storm. “Well, you see. It's not primarily her that is of interest, but her younger sister. Though surely, we will likely have to deal with this one to get to the other.”
The tall man sighed and settled back in his chair. “Fine, tell me about this sister. But, do so before I lose my patience again.”
